


make this pain worth it.

by allisonreynolds



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: DOGS ARE METAPHORS, LOTS OF MENTIONS OF DOGS, M/M, also more characters lol, and andrew becomes his bodyguard, arranged marriage (not the good type), drugs tw, extremely slow burn (:, i'll add some more tags as it progresses, i'm so stoked lmaooo, okay so this is an au, self harm tw, vomit tw, where neil is still nathaniel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonreynolds/pseuds/allisonreynolds
Summary: Andrew Minyard was bred to be a bodyguard. Nathaniel Wesninski needs one.





	1. Chapter 1

Andrew Minyard was born to die. It was the sad, harsh truth of his existence. It was something he lived with everyday, a weight like the world on Altas’ shoulders. He was carrying his demise. It wasn't even scary, the thought of death. Maybe it’s because death could be compared to a parasite; it lives inside you, festering, forming, until it takes you apart slowly and then you become rot and ruin and dust, until you decay from history itself.   
  
Andrew Minyard knew he was going to die well before he was supposed to.    
  
And he couldn't do anything about it. He was expected to give his life, if so needed, for whoever bought him. Andrew doubted that would happen. He resented the fact that he could be owned like a dog by someone. Someone who was weak and pitiful, who couldn't protect themself. If he didn’t take a bullet for his master, he would probably be killed when he was deemed no longer useful.    
  
That’s what happened when you were bred like a fucking dog. No one got out. You had kids, raised them to be loyal and ready to throw themselves off a bridge if their master asked them to. They put down the rabid ones, the ones who bit the hands of those who fed them.    
  
But Andrew had survived. Maybe it was because his psychotic tendencies had never shown themselves properly. Maybe it was because he had never really snapped at anyone. But the madness was there. It was inside every fibre, inside his bones. Andrew was his madness, his madness was him. It lay dormant, sitting, aching, waiting to take over and make its host more dangerous than he was already.    
  
No one wanted a rabid dog. They were killers; they could turn at the drop of a hat and kill whoever decided to take them in. It was dangerous, to ask them to protect you when they were waiting for the right moment to strike and rip your throat out.    
  
Maybe his mother could tell what was inside him. Maybe that was why she tossed him away. Maybe that's why she kept his pitiful brother instead.    
  
Andrew despised his brother. They were identical, and the only thing that distinguished them were the bands which Andrew wore on his arms. No one cared enough to ask why he wore them; he had given them their answers when they first asked him (a false smile and a short reply about how they were ‘none of your goddamn business’).    
  
Aaron was pathetic, at least in Andrew’s eyes. His mother had dealt so many blows that Aaron cowered beneath them for his whole life. He had learnt to deal with his erratic mother, to not say anything. Andrew knew that was the problem, that he was passive and took whatever he was given. Andrew hated him. He had grown up unaware of his shithead of a mother. He had grown up with steel skin, believing he was untouchable if he deemed it so (and often he did deem it so). He grew up with silent tears at midnight, the only way to take out the pain was to cut and scratch and bleed. Aaron grew up with pills washed down with cheap vodka, fresh bruises on any patch of skin that wouldn't be noticeable. Andrew noticed.    
  
Aaron cried when his mother died. Andrew just grinned throughout the whole thing. His medication left him buzzing above everyone else, every feeling elevated. His hatred for Tilda though, that was real. It was solid, a lump in his stomach that kept him grounded.   
  
The wake’s turnout was poor; there were a few people who stayed for tea and coffee, for the finger sandwiches that Aaron's aunt Maria had prepared. Andrew had asked mocking questions and laughed at her efforts, but she hadn't replied, instead continuing to butter bread and cut slices. Perhaps Aaron had warned her of his hostile behaviour.    
  
Andrew stood alone, hands in his pockets and smile still present on his face. The high of his medicine was shit, really, but he was doped up so often he was used to it. He missed the days when his foster brother would pass him a joint, and they would take turns inhaling the smoke, children getting high.    
  
“Andrew.”   
  
His head cocked, turning towards the sound of the voice. A woman, with a large grin plastered on her face. Andrew smiled back, and the women's own grin seemed to grow.    
  
“You must know about me.”   
  
“I can’t say I do,” he replied, taking a small step towards her. “Are you here to pay your respects? Do you miss dear Tilda? She was such a lovely woman.” His lips curled at the word lovely, teeth bared and glissening ferally.    
  
The woman laughed a hollow laugh, tossing back her head. She straightened up and leaned in towards him, eyes showing the madness that she had. “Fuck your mother. I’m here to collect you.”   
  
Andrew tapped his index and middle finger against his temple, eyes cold. “That’s not very nice. Are you here to put me out of my misery?”    
  
The woman’s eyes narrowed, though the smile she wore never faltered. “You’ve been bought.”   
  
It was Andrew’s turn to laugh, and it was just as false as hers had been. “Who’s fucked up enough to buy a broken dog?”   
  
“Someone desperate.”   
  
“No one is desperate enough for that,” he replied easily, shrugging his shoulders. “Now please, let me mourn in peace.”   
  
The woman didn’t move, just standing there, eyes trained hungrily on him. Her smile had turned sour, and Andrew was thrilled by how wound up she was getting. “You’ll come with me, Andrew, or I will make you.”   
  
He waved his hand dismissively, turning his back on her.    
  
“I’ll kill your brother.”   
  
“I hate him.”   
  
He turned away from her without another word. She said nothing, and Andrew could faintly hear the sound of the woman walking away. The sound of Maria’s scream broke his reverie. He turned on his heel, and saw the woman was holding a knife to Aaron's face, one arm locked around his neck. He wasn’t moving, keeping his eyes locked with Andrew.   
  
The next few things happened quickly. Andrew laughed, and the woman craved a line down Aaron's face. Blood welled on the laceration. Andrew was across the room in seconds, anger fuelling his advance. His knuckles connected with the soft tissue of her throat. He felt her windpipe move beneath his hand. He felt her let go of Aaron, heard her breath come out of her mouth. She fell to the ground, her laughs drowned out by her coughs.    
  
Aaron stared at Andrew, his gaze empty. He wiped a hand over his cut, and stared at the blood. “You were bought.”   
  
“I don’t care. What was our deal?”   
  
“The deal is off. You’re going to go,” Aaron hissed, looking towards the woman. “Fuck off, Andrew. You've done enough damage here.”   
  
The woman grinned up at them, teeth bared like a wild animal. Aaron's words only seemed to encourage her. “Come with me, Andrew. Nathan will be happy with his purchase.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew said, eyes trained on the woman, though his words were meant for his brother. “I belong to no one.”

“You are Nathan Wesninski’s dog. You belong to him. You will die for him,” the woman said, voice still hoarse from Andrew’s attack. Andrew wanted to hurt her again and again, until she stopped moving and her heart beat ceased.

“Fuck you.”

“Andrew, you know the rules,” Aaron hissed from behind Andrew. “You’re going."

Andrew turned around, and looked at his brother. He stalked forward, until the two were almost touching. Andrew dug his nails into Aaron’s cheek, tilting his head forward.

“You want to break our deal?”

“We were never going to be bought together. I don’t know why I ever agreed to that deal,” Aaron said, not bothering to move away from the nails biting into the skin of his face.

“You’re coming with me.”

Aaron allowed himself to smirk, turning his head towards the woman staring at them. “I think she only wants one of us,”

“I won’t allow you to get hurt anymore. You are mine, remember?”

“You’re not even yours. Get the fuck out of here.” Aaron placed a flat hand on Andrew’s chest, pushing him away. Andrew stepped backwards, the hand on his chest sending waves of both anger and anxiety through his petite frame.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” A reminder, one that Andrew knew that Aaron would never have to remember. “I hate you.” Andrew could feel the presence of the woman behind him, hovering too close for his comfort.

“The car is waiting, Andrew,” the woman whispered in his ear, her smile evident even in her voice. 

He had to go. He was a sold dog, who was forced to stand by his owner’s side, guns and knives strapped to his body. A dog who would be shot if he yapped too loud. He was fucked, in every sense of the word. 

Andrew Minyard was going to die well before his time.


	2. Chapter 2

Nathaniel Wesninski was a very dangerous man.    
  
Raised with a blade in his hand and taught cruelty, he knew how to hurt someone. He knew which bits to cut open, how to make them scream and beg and plead for their life. He knew how to get what he wanted from someone. And then he didn't care.    
  
It wasn't his job to dispose of the bodies. Lola did that. Nathaniel didn't care what happened to the bodies. As long as Lola did her job, Nathaniel never had to think of it ever again.    
  
That's what life was like.    
  
You tortured, maimed, and then you killed. The bodies got burned or buried or whatever the fuck Lola did with them, and you moved on.    
  
Since he was born, he had lived through the same day over, and over again. Nathaniel was a born killer.    
  
He was a dangerous, unprotected man.    
  
“Nathaniel,” Nathan said, calling his son over. A single finger curled beneath Nathaniel's chin, forcing him to stare into each other's eyes. Nathaniel hated how cruel his father's eyes were, how cold and lifeless they were. He hated his own identical pair.    
  
“I have a present for you. Though this one is not for you to play with.”   
  
Nathaniel's brow furrowed, bottom lip jutting out for a mere second before he wiped his expression blank. He tensed, waiting for the sting of Nathan's hand across his cheeks.   
  
It never came.    
  
“I bought someone for you,” Nathan said, other fingers curling around Nathaniel's jaw, nails biting into his skin, small amounts of pain blossoming across his. If you moved, it got worse, until blood streamed down your skin and the pain didn’t stop. The pain never stopped. Ever.    
  
"His name is Andrew Minyard. He will be here soon. You will give him the Wesninski greeting, yes?” Nathan asked, the venom lacing his tone hardly distinguishable to Nathaniel’s trained ears. Nathaniel bowed his head, dropping his gaze from his father.

The nails digging into the skin let loose, and Nathaniel felt as if the weight on his shoulders had lessened, like he was able to stand on his feet once again. He wiped his hand over his skin, and looked at the smear of red over his skin. He had seen enough blood to not even flinch, but the sensitivity of the open wounds made Nathaniel grit his teeth. He had been hurt enough to learn that Nathan expected no reaction. If you moved, cried out, did anything to show how the pain had affected you, it only got worse. His scars had healed long ago, but Nathaniel could swear they ached. 

The sound of feet brought Nathaniel’s eyes up, and in walked Lola. She had a bruise blooming at the base of her throat, light purple in stark contrast to her skin. She wore her smile, and Nathaniel saw a second figure following her.

He was short, face hidden in shadow, but Nathaniel could tell he had a shock of blonde hair that fell into his face. Lola stopped, waiting for the other to walk in front of her. Nathaniel stared at him, eyes narrowing at the sight of the stranger.

“Junior, I brought your present,” Lola said, cocking her head. Nathaniel bit back a scowl at the nickname, and merely nodded in her direction. Nathaniel assumed that the stranger was his new bodyguard.

Andrew Minyard. 

He wasn’t much to look at, small and with a Cheshire Cat grin plastered on his face, so similar to Lola’s own. Nathaniel could assume that he was the one who put the bruise on Lola. A small smirk hitched itself onto his face at the thought. 

“This is Andrew,” Nathaniel asked, and Lola nodded. 

“He's a dangerous son of a bitch,” she said, hand pressing against the mark fleetingly. “He's highly medicated, but we'll be taking him off it.”

Nathaniel stepped forward, finger extended towards Andrew. “Touch me and I'll break your arm,” he said, voice calm. Nathaniel could hear the dangerous undertones. 

Nathaniel did scowl now, which only seemed to widen Andrew’s grin. “Do you know what you are? You are my property. I will do with you what I please. Otherwise, I'll kill you.”

“Do it,” Andrew said. A challenge. He knew how it was going to end for him. It was just a matter or when. Nathaniel wanted to scream at him. He wanted to hit him and feel his body underneath his hands. He wanted to feel him being taken apart. Violence was the only thing that Nathaniel excelled at. 

“How long until we take him off his meds?” he asked. 

“When do you want him?” Lola replied easily. 

“Now,” he said. He could feel his anger pulsing inside of him, hot and dark and deadly. He could barely feel the dull bite of his nails into the soft flesh of his palms. He stared at Andrew’s smile, and every moment that passed it felt like Andrew was taunting him. Nathaniel turned away from him, mouth twisting into his father’s smile. 

He wanted to hurt someone. 

Because the only way he knew how to deal with feelings: to bleed, to make someone feel as fucked as he did. There was a ragged hole inside of him, and nothing fixed it. No matter how many bodies lay at his feet, no matter how much blood coated his hands, nothing would ever make him feel better. Nathaniel was fundamentally broken. 

He would never be fixed. 

It was a sad existence, and it belonged to him. 

“Just get him out of here,” Nathaniel hissed, waiting to hear the sound of receding footsteps. He wouldn’t let himself look back if Andrew was still there. He didn’t trust himself to not lash out at him.

“Right away, Junior,” Lola replied, mockery dripping off every word. Nathaniel stiffened, chewing at his lower lip in anger. He could taste blood on his tongue, could feel the dull ache in his mouth. He continued to gnaw at the skin until he heard them leave. And then he was all alone.

His first cry was pitiful. It called for sympathy, for someone to come and take him away from all of this. The next was fuelled with anger. It was spiteful, hateful. Nathaniel walked forward, and put his fist through the wall. And then another. He hit the wall until his hands were numb, until he couldn’t hear the sound of his labored breathing. The wall was a mess, drywall and dust littered the area, a gaping hole in the wall. Nathaniel examined his hands quickly, wiping the dust on his pants.

Nathan would hurt him for this, for the mess he made. Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to care. He wondered if this was what his life would have been like if he wasn’t so scared of his father.

Nathaniel moved through the house, towards the room designated for Andrew. All the dogs lived there when they first entered the house. Lola waited outside, her smile wiped from her face, replaced with a scowl.

“He’s rabid, Junior. He’s high as a fucking kite and he tried to take my head off,” she spat, “so just imagine what he’ll be like sober.”

“Maybe you would be better without your head,” Nathaniel replied, twisting the doorknob.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's some vomitting in this chapter so . if u don't like that !!!! pls don't read !

Andrew raised his head lazily as the door clicked open, gaze focused hazily on the figure in front of him. “Nathaniel. I thought you were never coming.” His words were a taunt, the shark grin that stretched his face directed solely towards the other.

Nathaniel stared back, seemingly unfazed by the expression. He was unreadable to Andrew. His eyes gave away nothing about him, apart from mirroring his father's almost perfectly. There was a difference though, ever so slight, but Andrew couldn't identify what varied.

“You were wrong,” he replied, his tone completely even. Andrew wondered briefly what was running through Nathaniel’s mind, but brushed it aside without a second thought. He folded his legs on the wooden floor, fingers folding neatly into each other as he stared up at the other.

“It’s very rude to talk behind people’s backs, Nathaniel. Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

Nathaniel seemed to bristle at the comment, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits, mouth twisting cruelly. “Don't talk about her.” Andrew noted how his hands shook, how his eyes carried a glint of sadness. All just weaknesses, exposed; ready to be sunken into with vicious teeth and claws.

Andrew could feel his smile taking a brutal edge at Nathaniel's words, petite frame leaning forwards. “Did mommy not love you enough, Nathaniel? Is that the root of your issues?”

“Don’t talk about her. I will not ask you again.”

“What will you do?” Andrew asked, words a hook that were meant to sink into Nathaniel and pull out a reaction; one that was preferably volatile.

The reply came quickly, easily. “I will make your life a living hell.”

Andrew laughed, the empty sound filling his throat, bubbling up over his lips. “Don't overestimate yourself, Nathaniel. It's hard to do that to someone who's already there.”

The blue eyes narrowed, in what Andrew assumed was a menacing manner. They reminded Andrew of glass shards, much like ice. He waved a hand dismissively towards Nathaniel, turning away from him. A small noise came from behind Andrew, but he ignored it.

“Fuck you, Minyard.”

Andrew gave no response, nor did he indicate that he heard any words. He drummed his fingers on the ground, the sounds of their breathing slowly falling into a steady rhythm.

* * *

 

Andrew's smile had long since faded. The medication was wearing off, and so was the high that came with it. Andrew was falling back to earth. He had yet to crash. But he knew it was coming. He could feel his stomach turning, feel the bile building in his throat. Andrew hated how helpless he was without the drugs, how much he relied on them.

“Nathaniel. Give me the pills,” he warned, every word feeling like glass in his throat, every sound cutting into the soft flesh.

“No.”

“I hate you,” Andrew spat out, anger and violence evident in every syllable.

Nathaniel merely blinked, and watched as Andrew fell apart.

The shakes came first. Just like they always did. Andrew pressed his fingers to his chest, a moment of weakness sweeping his body. He had never broken in front of a stranger. It was always Aaron, a mirror image who stood and watched and had the prescription bottle dangling from his fingertips.

But there would be no relief from this.

They wanted him off. They wanted him to have one thing that was dependent: Nathaniel.

“Give me the pills.”

“I don't know if you realize that you have no authority over my actions. You are not in control,” Nathaniel hissed, voice low.

Almost in response, Andrew’s body convulsed, tipping forwards. His mouth opened as he began to retch, spine arching almost inhumanly. He dug his fingers into the floor, his small noises of distress drowned out by the heaving noises which spilled from his parted lips. The contents of his stomach were all over the floor.

And this was the unraveling of Andrew Minyard. You grabbed his constant, and pulled it just out of reach. You watched as the stitches fell out of place, as his flesh broke and fell off as he bit back horrid screams. He would not die with any indication of the turmoil contained in his bones.

Nathaniel stared down at him, eyes blank and mouth wiped free of expression. Andrew attempted his best glare upwards, but as his body heaved once more, he averted his gaze to the floor, unwanted tears welling in his eyes.

“Fuck you,” he managed to hiss, voice small and constricted. It was pitiful. “I hate you.”

“I don't care.”

Andrew bared his teeth like a wounded animal desperate for relief. He tried to talk, his words balanced on the tip of his tongue, but another set of convulsions took over his body. His head tipped forwards, and Andrew retched, body heaving drily. He had already offered all he had.

He could hear the click of the door as it opened, feel the eyes targeting his form on the floor. “Go away,” Andrew finally said, lips curling around the words, voice low and feral.

“Look at him, Junior,” he could hear Lola saying. Andrew could almost hear the smile in her voice, twisted and soaking up every moment of his vulnerability. “It’s embarrassing, isn’t it? He’s broken. You could just--”

“D-- don't fucking touch me,” Andrew growled, teeth snapping together. Everything faded into background noise, until the only things that he could hear were himself, and Nathaniel’s steady breathing. It was like a clock, always on time, a steady pulse inside of Andrew’s wrists and neck and heart.

“Get out.” Nathaniel’s harsh command, and even in Andrew’s state he knew all the anger was directed at Lola. “I won’t ask you again.”

Andrew felt his body slump, felt his his bones and muscles and sinew giving out on him. His world was on fire, burning up from the inside out. There was no relief from any of it. Maybe it was too far gone, too far out of grasp. Maybe he would never feel whole again.

The only anchor he has is the steady breathing of someone who could ruin a life with a simple touch and put it all together again.

His fingers splayed across the ground, pushing his small frame upwards. He swiped his wrist across his mouth, lips parted and tongue sweeping across canine teeth. Andrew felt his whole body scream at him, protest every movement he made, no matter how minimal. He tipped his head towards Nathaniel, his voice completely void of any emotion.

“Are you satisfied with the results?”

Nathaniel’s lips parted for a second, words forming but fading into nothing as he hesitated. He remained silent, response evident. Andrew wondered if Nathaniel was scared of him.

He would be.

“If you touch me, I'll rip your fucking throat out,” he said, eyes flashing to Nathaniel. He nodded in response.

What was he to do now? Withdrawal; a vicious cycle. How long would Nathaniel watch him fall apart, listen to him? How long would Andrew be vulnerable for?

“Dinner will be at eight. Don't be late.”

Andrew raised his middle finger as his response. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i'm sorry i haven't posted in like. 82 years. lmaooooo. but yeah here's a new chapter !!!!! i hope u like it

Nathaniel could feel the uneasiness at the table. It became more obvious with every passing second, every small noise made as knives and forks scraped against porcelain and silence hung heavily around the table. Nathan sat at the head of the table, cutting into the steak sitting on the plate in front of him.

Nathaniel shifted his gaze over to Andrew, careful to keep the motion subtle. The plate sat in front of Andrew, completely untouched. Andrew stared at him, eyes glinting hungrily. Andrew was unmoving; a Greek statue carved from marble. The two locked eyes, and Nathaniel could feel Andrew's golden gaze boring into him. Their stares were unblinking, unwavering, until Andrew's mouth twitched slightly. 

Nathaniel didn't notice him reaching for his knife until Nathan spoke. 

He didn't even look up from his plate. "Andrew, leave the knife alone. You would be dead before you had the chance to even reach me."

Nathaniel looked towards Lola, standing in the doorway. She held a lighter in her hand, flicking it on and off as she watched the table. Her brother, Romero, stood slightly behind them, scowling at the phone he held in his hand. He didn't wear a maniac smile half as well as his sister did. 

"Give me—“ Andrew began, though he came to a grinding halt as his body shook with withdrawal in the seat. "My meds."

"I thought you said you didn't need them anymore," Nathaniel replied quickly, raising a brow in question. 

"I lied."

Nathaniel scowled at the other man, turning back to his plate and looking down at the food. He could still see Andrew from his peripheral. He could see every time he ground his teeth together, every time his small frame shook ever so slightly. 

What he didn't see was Andrew's hands, which lay concealed beneath the table. 

Nathaniel raised his head just as Andrew turned and threw the knife at Lola. It hit the wall, mere centimetres away from her face. Lola examined it for a few moments, before she pulled it out and took a step towards Andrew. 

She slammed the blade into the table, just above Andrew's untouched plate. Lola's smile had melted slightly, though the difference would be undetectable to an untrained eye. Nathaniel knew she was angry— but he did not know to what extent. 

“Listen, pup. You fuck with me, I take something you value. I'll cut your fingers off, one by one.”

“Do it. I don't fucking care,” Andrew said as he flicked his plate away from himself. He stood up, head tilting so he could stare up at her. His gaze was unwavering, cold as arctic glaciers. It sent a chill up Nathaniel’s spine. He had never seen someone care so little about themselves. Andrew seemed to have completely given up on self preservation.

Nathaniel hated it. He spent every hour of everyday trying to avoid the abuse his father dealt him like it was praise. He avoided Nathan as much as he could, though he had been forced throughout his life to be an obedient son. _Keep your eyes down and your mouth shut_. Seeing how little Andrew cared about the future— his future— made Nathaniel hate him more.

“Control your pet, Nathaniel,” Nathan said from the end of the table, his voice carrying over the room. “I don’t want to see him until he’s been taught how to sit and not bite at his master’s hands.”

Nathaniel could feel his breath hitching in his chest, a dull ache spreading across his sternum. He knew that he had to show Andrew who was in control, like his father had showed him. He could feel his fingers shaking against the tabletop, little quivers that would be unnoticeable to those watching on. Nathaniel forced himself to smile— his _father’s_ smile— and stood up.

“You will follow, Andrew. If you choose not to, Lola is as vicious as ever,” he said, standing up at his place. He pressed his fingertips hard enough into the wood of the table until he could no longer feel them. The numbness was slowly spreading all over his body, but his limbs operated on autopilot. 

He motioned to Andrew with a crooked index finger, keeping his eyes away from Nathan’s piercing stare as he hurriedly exited the room. Nathaniel could barely hear if he was being followed or not; all he could hear was the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Nathaniel stepped into the closest room, pushing the door open and keeping his back to the doorway.

The waves in his head were violent, beating against his skull and causing his breathing to hitch, drowning Nathaniel, dragging him beneath the surface. The closing of the door forced him upwards, the waves quelling and Nathaniel could breathe properly. 

“You came." _Without prompting_ , Nathaniel said as he turned around, staring at Andrew.

“Dinner was boring.”

Nathaniel didn’t reply, just continued to keep a steady gaze on Andrew. They stayed standing, until Nathaniel spoke quietly. “I have to,” he said, stepping towards the other male. Andrew said nothing in reply, though he tilted his head away from Nathaniel.

“Nath— My father, will not take your… Insolence anymore, Andrew. He will not let you act like you are feral anymore. You are off your meds for good now. Nothing will change that.”

Nathaniel channeled his father into his words, that damned smile hanging off his lips so unnaturally as he spoke. Nathan was a serpent in his mind, slithering around and whispering in his ear, telling him what to say, how to say it. He sounded like the Butcher.

“Do you think I care what your father thinks of me? He is not the one who owns me,” Andrew said flatly. “I am not owned by anyone. You may believe you do, Nathaniel, but then you would be just as dense as the rest of them.”

Nathaniel’s mind instantly came to a grinding halt, his father’s voice fading from his existence. It was the two of them now, in a room with the doors closed. Andrew was so close Nathaniel could almost touch him. He could punish him so easily, his knives were just in his pockets.

“You are Wesninski property now, Andrew. Your leash is short, and held by me.” Nathaniel paused momentarily, debating whether to share more. “But my own leash is being held by my father,” he finished, staring at the other.

“You are no better than dog yourself. I wonder, does your collar ever choke you?”

“Fuck you,” Nathaniel hissed, raising his hand as if to strike Andrew. He felt Andrew moving, pushing against him and pinning the hand he had raised behind his back. Nathaniel could feel the leg snaking between his, and he fought both momentum and gravity to keep upright.

He failed.

Nathaniel lay on his back, Andrew on top of him. His knee was over Nathaniel’s chest and his windpipe, a present threat. Nathaniel’s other hand was held down by Andrew’s forearm, and they were barely a breath apart. He could almost feel Andrew considering whether to push down, to slowly cut off his air until he was gasping for oxygen.

“Don’t touch me,” Andrew warned. Nathaniel hated how consistent his voice was. It was the same as it had been minutes earlier. “You will find I am not a good enemy to have, Nathaniel. Especially without my medication.” 

Nathaniel tried to turn his face away from Andrew, to push up against him, but Andrew pressed into the soft flesh of his throat, free hand grabbing Nathaniel’s jaw and turning his head until Andrew was satisfied.

“One day you’ll end up with a knife in your side and they’ll know who it was.” It was not a threat. Andrew was making him a promise.

Nathaniel looked into Andrew’s eyes and saw no hint of a lie. He could feel the other’s whole body on him, holding him down, immobilizing him. “We just won’t give you knives then,” he responded, just as evenly as Andrew had. Andrew regarded him once more, before deciding to get off of Nathaniel. 

“Andrew, I hope you learn your place before you are put in it.”

Andrew blinked in response.

The door pushed open, Lola sliding into the room with a smile on her face. “Junior, the Reynolds’ are here. Nathan wants you to deal with the girl. Tell Andrew to play nice with her dog. They both have appearances to maintain.” 

Nathaniel nodded, casting a gaze towards Andrew. He seemed unaffected by the news of the new arrivals. "Let's go, Andrew," Nathaniel said, starting towards the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woah dis shit GAY

Allison Reynolds hated doing business with her father. She strode down the halls of the Wesninski house, her perfectly curled hair blowing behind her as she searched for where Nathan had said his son would be. Beside her, Renee Walker matched her pace, her technicoloured hair pinned up, her expression soft.

The pair walked in silence, save for the _tap_ of Allison’s heels against the hardwood floors. The sound was a friendly echo, a small signal of her arrival. Allison didn’t want to be here. Her father had persuaded her into doing his business with a new car. She didn’t care about the car; she would crash it when she had the chance. She enjoyed watching her father figure out how to chip away at her, first with rough commands and then desperate bargaining, offering her whatever her heart desired.

Allison felt her heartbeat in her throat as she looked towards Renee.

Allison had locked herself in a prison of ice ever since she was little. She hated her parents, how they never had time for her unless it suited them. She spent birthdays with her nannies in resorts in tropical places she didn’t know the name of until she was older. Anywhere she wanted to go, she could. The world was one big resort to her. 

And then her father started losing money. She was old enough then to understand the stakes, what they would lose. So she involved herself, pushing into the business and slowly beginning to repair it, piece by piece. She made the business an investment, something people would want to buy into. It was the ultimate facade of luxury. 

Nathan Wesninski invested large sums of money.

Allison was meeting his son as a formal thank you for his father’s charity. She knew that her own father was scared shitless by Nathan. The Butcher was famous; his reputation preceded him.

Renee stilled beside her, a single oak door closed in front of them. This was where the meeting would happen. She hesitated only to fix her hair and inspect her perfectly manicured nails. Renee gave her a smile, one that felt like it would stop her heart. Allison knocked once, before pushing the door open.

Nathaniel was the spitting image of his father. They shared the same hair, the same piercing eyes. Beside him was his dog, a short blonde man who appeared even more grim than his counterpart. She stopped just short of them, waiting for Nathaniel’s move.

“Miss Reynolds,” he said, tone completely pleasant. He stepped forwards, taking one of her hands in his own and placing a gentle kiss to the top. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” He was a good actor.

“Likewise,” she replied, her saccharine smile for him false. She gestured to her side, not taking her ice cold gaze off of him. “This is Renee. She’s here for my protection; I’m sure you understand how things are.”

Nathaniel nodded, casting his eyes towards the other man. “I completely understand, Allison— If I may. Andrew is fairly new, he has not undergone proper training just yet. I apologize if he does not conduct himself in proper fashion.” Allison could hear his words catch in his throat, the way he seemed to stumble over himself in order to excuse future behaviour. 

“I’m sure if any trouble appears, Renee can take care of it.”

Nathaniel did not reply to her, keeping his gaze trained on Andrew. She looked quickly towards Renee, who still wore her ever present smile. It was a small reassurance, giving her split seconds to gather herself once more and press her scarlet coloured lips into a false smile.

“May I sit?” 

Nathaniel balked, his smile turning the slightest bit sheepish for a moment before pulling a chair out for her. “Of course. Please, I do not wish to get off on the wrong foot.”

She sat, folding her hands on the table in front of her. She could feel Renee behind her, watching as Nathaniel sat opposite her. Andrew stood displaced from his master, seemingly looking at everything and nothing at all at once. “My father sends his best regards for your family,” she said to break the uneasy silence, her weak attempts to keep her tone pleasant unnoticed.

“As does mine. My father,” Nathaniel replied, shifting uneasily in his chair, “wanted us to get acquainted. Eventually we will have to take over the family business, will we not?”

“I suppose so. Though for some it might be easier, to step into that position of power.” Allison knew her words were a taunt, a jab at Nathaniel because of his father’s profession. He had no control over it, much like she had no control over her own family.

“I suppose it must be. Our kingdoms are very different, Miss Reynolds.” He was mocking her, tearing her down. As if sensing her anger bubbling inside her, Renee put her hand on her shoulder. It was a calming gesture, a show that they were a united force. Allison draped her own hand over Renee’s, leaning backwards into the chair.

“Nathaniel— I completely understand where you’re coming from. Your family has the most stakes in my father’s business. I assure you, when I take over after he retires, you won’t need to be involved anymore. I’ll buy your shares from you, piece by piece, until everything is owned by me.”

“Allison, this runs deeper than just money now. Our families have been doing business for a long time. You would be naive to imagine that you can rebuild your empire.”

“And you would underestimate me, Nathaniel,” she hissed, leaning forwards over the table. She was a lioness, fangs and claws bared to her prey. Nathaniel’s mouth twitched ever so slightly.

“Allison, I apologize if I offended you. That was never my intention. Do you know the reason why we are meeting today?”

She stilled in her chair, blinking before shaking her head. “I don’t. My father said it was for business purposes.”

“That is exactly what it is. My father— Our fathers— have decided that,” he paused as he spoke, badly hiding the face he made, “it would be… _beneficial_ to keep your business within both of our families.” 

The words hit her hard, lips pressing into a hard line as she fought the urge to scream out in anger. “What are they proposing, Nathaniel?”

“We both know what they are proposing, Allison.”

She stood up, slamming her hands down on the tables, causing a stony silence within the room. Her eyes blazed, no longer caring about her appearance. “My father has no control over that area of my life! I would never—“

Renee pressed her fingers to her wrist briefly, the soft touch bringing Allison down from her bubbling anger. She took a shallow breath, sitting down and fixing her platinum hair. “I am not… ‘courting’ you, Nathaniel. I have no deeper interest in you, or your father,” she said, her voice completely even and restrained.

“I completely understand, Allison,” he replied, shifting in his seat. “Between you and me,” he leaned forwards, eyes darting around the room, “I have no interest other than pleasing my father.”

The blonde man in the back of the room made a small noise, and Allison flicked her gaze towards him for a minute. He still stood stoically, his face blank and eyes trained on Nathaniel.

“Pleasing your father? That’s pathetic, isn’t it? You should strive for something more out of life,” Allison said, voice barely higher than a whisper. She didn’t miss the small turn on his head towards Andrew, catching himself just in time. “Your dog— What does he do?”

“Andrew is… my newest dog. My father only found it fit to pair me with him recently. He’s not gone through much training yet, we’ve only just taken him off of his medication which sedates him completely. What about yours?”

Allison allowed herself to smile, smugness spreading over her face. “Renee? She can speak for herself.”

“My name is Renee. I was rescued by my adoptive mother, Stephanie Walker. She renamed me, gave me a new faith. And then she was called upon by the Reynolds’ family, and I became Allison’s guard,” she said simply, her hands folded as she spoke. “The hair is my own choice, I quite like the look of it.”

Nathaniel seemed to smile at her words, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. Andrew stayed still in his spot, a statue made of marble in the Wesninski home. Renee’s smile never wavered, it seemed an eternal part of her face.

“Rescued from what?

Andrew broke the silence, Nathaniel flinching visibly. Allison could feel the cool smile spreading across her lips, placing her head on the back of her hands.

“Renee? What were you rescued from?” she asked, her tone mocking and mouth pulled into a small smile.

“I was in a gang when I was younger. I rose up the ranks and when they were caught, I testified against them and had a shorter sentence in juvenile detention. Does that answer your question?”

Andrew stepped forward, like a cat narrowing in on it’s prey. His golden eyes glowed, his lips perfectly parted. He looked like Apollo, though he carried the aura of Ares. If Allison was any less of a person, she would have been intimidated by him. But she was molded from steel, a heart of ice. 

“That’s… interesting,” Andrew said, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes. Renee didn’t seem to waver before him, her smile standing still but her eyes were hidden, shining like glass as the pair looked at each other.

Allison flicked her fingers towards them, looking at Nathaniel and leaning over towards him. “If that’s all, I’ll be on my way. I have better things to do today.”

Nathaniel seemed to bristle, though he redirected his gaze towards the door. “Thank you, Allison, for taking time to meet us today. We will escort you and Renee out.”

“I have no need for your escort. Thank you, Nathaniel,” she stuck out her hand in offer of a handshake. He met hers, his hand warm in hers. Allison gave Nathaniel her business smile, all dazzling porcelain teeth. Her smile had no warmth behind her.

“It was a _pleasure_ ,” she said, turning around and sauntering towards the door. She paused, her hand on the door handle. “I’m sure our fathers’ have talked quite a bit,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. Allison’s smile slid off her face, opening the door and leaving in a trail of floral scents and the click of her heels against the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully this was good ! i'm obviously going to be writing more of this, because this au gives me life .  
> drop me some constructive criticism !  
> let me know if you liked it !!!  
> my tumblr is antiriko.tumblr.com
> 
> <3


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